


Everything I Had Hoped You'd Be

by E_rubecula



Category: Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: A love story if you could believe it, Anal Sex, Blackmail, Blood and Gore, Choking, Confessions, Daddy Issues, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Latex, Light BDSM, M/M, Manipulation, Objectification, Substance Abuse, Torture, sense deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:47:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24716290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/E_rubecula/pseuds/E_rubecula
Summary: Based on the Rebirth run of RHatO and Teen Titans: Jason took over the Iceberg Lounge as Bruce Wayne's ward after the "killing Penguin" incident and their subsequent fall out. Black Mask was kept prisoner by Damian, but he later escaped.He came to Jason and made him an offer he couldn't refuse.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Roman Sionis/Jason Todd
Comments: 11
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

Jason scanned the club -- the turn up is good tonight; Miguel, Suzie and the girls are running the Iceberg Lounge like a well-oiled machine. They are not friends, of course. In fact, Jason wouldn't even call them teammates, not after what happened to Artemis and Bizarro. These people are his employees - that's all - and they get the job done.

Rather lucratively, he should add.

He made his rounds to greet the patrons. He has to admit that he’s finally getting the appeal of an alter ego: when he is Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne’s not-so-dead ward, he can breathe better. The guilt and angst that grind on in Red Hood’s mind can finally be shoved down. They will pop up again later tonight, sure, but it is comforting that by being Jason Todd, the Red Hood dies a little.

The night proceeded without drama, and frankly, Jason is bored. He’s had his third (or is it the fourth?) glass of wine, and though he is no lightweight, without enough stimulation the warm buzz in his head was just a little too numbing.

That was why he thought he had made a mistake when he saw Roman.

There in a slick black suit, swirling a glass of red wine. Jason squinted at the figure. The man spotted him too. He paused, then strode right across the club and landed in front of him. He waited for Jason to take a good look, then smiled – if he can smile – and extended his hand.

“It is good to see you again, _Jason_.”

Jason blinked at the mask, then at the gloved hand, as the realization slowly filled him with dread –-

The man before him _is_ the Black Mask, who has seen his face, who now knows that Jason Todd, _Bruce Wayne_ ’s ward, is the Red Hood.

And every bat is screwed by association.

It’s not like he hasn't been threatening Bruce with exactly that – fuck him – but he is not gone enough either to feel safe leaving the decision to a villain like Black Mask. Demon brat told him that Roman had escaped. He thought he was just lying.

Big mistake. Huge.

Bruce’s voice echoed in his head, less funny this time.

He shook Roman’s hand before the tension between them got any more suspicious. Head racing, he asked the man to join him upstairs in his office. Roman nodded and followed with the nonchalance of a predator, observing Jason as he shut the door behind him.

“What do you want?” Jason hoped he didn't sound as shaken as he felt.

“Didn’t they teach you manners at Wayne’s?” Roman clicked his tongue. “Pour me a drink, kid.”

Jason did, because this is not the time to put up a fight. He handed Roman his drink and watched him took a deliberately long sip.

“I ought to kill you, really,” putting down the glass, Roman declared. “With your betrayal and telling the bat brat to lock me up in his goddamn prison - yes, I know you’re behind it - I ought to cut you open, feed your carcass to the dogs and mount your head on my wall."

“Sounds like a plan,” Jason replied, hands reaching for his guns.

Roman dismissed the action casually, "But call me sentimental, I do have a soft spot for you. Besides, seeing you so miserable has almost made up for it all.”

“I’m not _MISERABLE,_ ” Jason hissed.

“Of course you are,” Roman disagreed easily. He moved closer, raised his hand to stroke Jason’s chin gently with his thumb, and observed the mixture of expressions flashing through the younger man’s face. “My poor boy, you have been through so much," he cooed, suddenly tightening his grip. "Now you have no one left, exhausted, yearning a good long rest... I can help you with that."

“Sounds like you still want to kill me.” Jason grinned, baring his teeth.

“I do,” Roman confirmed matter-of-factly. “But now I’m offering to share your burden. I am no Batman, granted, but I will never ask you to be someone you’re not," he must have caught the hurt that flashed across Jason's face, because he then lowered his voice, to a gentle, inquisitive murmur, "I’m merely asking you to expand your vision, consider the road less travelled, if you will. After all, what do you think you’re accomplishing here?”

Jason averted his eyes under the dismissiveness in Roman's tone. “Getting back at Batman,” he mumbled. 

“And isn’t that tiresome,” Roman shook his head. “You are a competent man, Jason, you can keep yanking the man’s wings all you like while building something here. With me. I can be the father that you’ve never had, that you clearly so desperately need, if you let me.”

Jason ground his teeth; he wanted to argue that he has never needed a father, that he never will, but Roman is making a compelling point. There is nothing left for him to lose. He has lost Roy, Artemis, and Bizarro. He has lost Bruce’s trust. He has almost lost Gotham too. He took over Copplebolt’s business telling himself that he has a plan, that he is cleaning up the city and controlling the crime, that he will get Roy back and the Outlaws too; but if he is being honest, Roman is right. He is too spent right now to do any of those.

And he is lucky that with all the leverage, Roman is still playing nice.

“...It’s not like I have a choice,” he deflated.

Roman leaned back and hummed pleasantly, reminding Jason what an asshole he can be. “Is that a yes, then?”

“Sure,” Jason shrugged.

The man didn’t speak, but his disapproval was apparent. And how messed up is Jason to be wired hypersensitive about that.

“Yes,” he tried again, “… sir.”

Roman’s silence lasted a few seconds longer like he was expecting more, but eventually, he let Jason off the hook.

“We'll get there,” he said, “you can put your worries all to rest now, _son_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the arc in RHatO was cut off quite abruptly in my opinion, I'm just cherry-picking the canon here ;)


	2. Chapter 2

Life went on after their agreement.

Jason never saw Roman again. His intel said that the Black Mask was claiming back territories he had lost during his absence. Gang wars went on for weeks, the casualties alarmed the GCPD and even Batman to interfere. Jason didn't get involved, as much as he wanted to. It shouldn't matter, he should be relieved that Roman is leaving him alone; but whenever a rival's operation was shut down leaving his running as usual, he couldn't help but feel special. 

Maybe that's been the whole point. Maybe Roman is just keeping him in line for the last-minute cleanup.

Still he waited, going about his days. He decided that it was rare to have both the Batman and the Black Mask out of his hair for once, and he was going to enjoy it. So when Roman finally found him, he was slouching on some surface, drunk for the fourth time this week. Gazing at Roman, up-side-down through his hazy lens, he thought of that filthy, cramped apartment at crime alley; of his mother, looking up at him from the floor with her cloudy eyes. Looks like the ghost of his last life is finally catching up to him. Alarming, really.

Roman was silent. Circling in, he surveyed Jason from above. Jason forced a burp and grinned.

“It was assholes like you –-” he paused, the accusation already escaped him, so he finished the sentence with a sloppy wave of his hand.

“You know I do not appreciate language like that,” Roman sat down beside him; the surface sank down towards the weight. Ah, so he is in his bed.

“…or the fact that you compared me to him. I am not Batman.”

“Never said you were.”

“I am not _Bruce Wayne_ , Jason,” Roman clarified impatiently. Satisfied with the attention the name got him, he sighed and collected himself. “I will not force myself upon you.”

Jason huffed in amusement, “Subtle.”

“I will give you anything, Jason, whenever you ask,” Roman leaned to stroke Jason’s hair, “but, _only_ if you ask.”

Jason slapped the hand away, “Too bad, old man. Not gonna ask you for anything,” he tried to get up and show Roman the door, only to collapse on his shoulder with his balance long-gone. A whine escaped him under the jolt of pain, and then it was too late.

“Are you hurt?”

Jason wanted to laugh because the man almost sounded concerned when he knew he was anything but. A shark smelling blood, now that's a more appropriate analogy.

“Nah, just some old wounds,” he waved it off, trying to ignore Roman’s studying gaze.

“Was it him?”

Jason tensed up.

“What made you think that?”

“Who could’ve hurt you so badly otherwise?”

Jason was quiet. He felt ridiculous that he still has the urge to defend Bruce, when he _is_ the one who beat him into a bloody pulp.He doesn’t know what would happen if Roy didn’t show up that night. He tried not to think about it.

“You're going to waste your shoulder if you leave it like that,” a voice snapped Jason out of his thoughts. Then he was being rolled over, his protests ignored, and his injured spot rubbed at by a pair of merciless hands. Jason cringed and hissed at the pain, but eventually gave in to the numbing relaxation when the hands on his shoulder wouldn't quiver.

“This will have to do. Can’t give you any pills since you’re so drunk.”

Maybe it was the endorphin, maybe the alcohol, but Jason blushed at the disapproval in Roman’s voice. Feeling stupid, he buried his face in the pillow.

He then realized that Roman had taken his gloves off.

It was the most surreal feeling, knowing that under all the leather and suit, the man is made of flesh too. Jason lifted his head to breath, unfocused eyes staring into the space. He wanted to ask what happened to “help but only if you ask”, but decided to phrase it differently just to be extra provocative.

“Why are you so _obsessed_ with me anyway?”

He was expecting some smug retort, because that’s how they talk. But it didn’t come. Roman didn’t stop working his hands on the knots in Jason’s shoulders. He was quiet for a long time, so much so that Jason had thought that he was not getting an answer. But then, Roman murmured, and to Jason’s surprise, he sounded truly baffled.

“I don’t know.”

A hand rested on the vertebrae of Jason’s neck, fingertips curling up at his Adam’s apple. “Why are _you_ such a flirt?” 

Jason didn’t respond. Because he didn’t know how to. Because he was holding his breath.

And because at that moment, against all his logic, he hoped that Roman would choke him.


	3. Chapter 3

Jason took a sip of his champagne. He is at the Wayne’s fundraiser for the Gotham Orphanage, one he doesn’t despise as much as the other countless excuses Bruce has for holding a fancy gala. He still doesn’t want to be here, obviously, but he is here to work, and being a Wayne makes things so much easier.

This was only supposed to be a recon mission, but by the second glass of Taittinger, Jason has started to hope that someone would rob the place, or announce that there is a bomb planted somewhere -- anything to get him out of the life draining small talk. He’s been thinking about that day, about Roman, sometimes even more than other things. He welcomed the change, because the tape that had been playing on a loop in his head were getting painfully monotone.

His eyes drifted to Bruce. As usual, he was surrounded by people in gold and silver, smiling, mingling, flirting. Jason scratched his nose in irritation. They have acknowledged each other’s presence earlier this evening so that the press wouldn’t get suspicious and come snoop around; Bruce said it was nice to see him, and he said… whatever he said. He wasn’t really present for it. He was thinking.

_Roman’s hand, around his neck. How he sounded when he murmurs._

How he must be delusional, thinking his trademark sarcasm was anywhere near flirting.

He finally faked a cough and excused himself from the crowd, making it to the balcony to recharge. It was already occupied. Jason scoffed in disbelieve when he recognized the now-too-familiar figure –- isn’t this his lucky day.

He joined the man by the balustrade.

"Sup, stalker,” he greeted.

“Who said I was stalking you?” the older man sounded amused.

“Well I'm like, 90 percent sure you didn't get an invite to this thing," Jason stretched his arms, a fake smile on his face. "Because this is a _fundraiser_ for an _orphanage_. Because as rich and powerful and _tragically_ parentless as you are, you just don’t seem like the kinda guy who’d be interested in orphans.”

“Because I am not Bruce Wayne,” Roman suggested.

Jason couldn't help but laughed, “Because you’re not Bruce Wayne,” he agreed.

They shared a moment of silence.

“But, I did make an exception,” Roman said, looking at him.

Jason was about to rebut, but the balcony door had swung open behind them at that moment. He’d recognize that silent rage anywhere, looks like someone just put two and two together.

“You've crossed a line, Jason,” the silhouette growled.

“You’ll need to be more specific than that, Bruce,” rolling his eyes, Jason turned around and leaned against the marble pillar, “I’ve crossed many of your lines.”

The man marched closer, “Do you realize how many lives you’ve put on the line by _screwing_ with this maniac?” 

Jason's eyes widened. He was taken aback by Bruce's phrasing, but managed to keep his chin up, “Almost as much as by letting the Joker live? Don’t worry, old man, I can take care of my problem.”

“Give me one reason,” Bruce lowered his voice, stepping into Jason’s space, “just _one_ reason why I shouldn’t be worried. You're a wild card, Jason -- ”

“Bruce, if I may,” a gloved hand blocked his way.

“No.”

“If I may,” Roman insisted. “The boy's right. I wouldn’t do anything to expose you or your little clan. I’ve had my suspicions, and if I’m being honest, I don’t find the confirmation all that interesting. Like the boy said, he took care of it.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes at the man, "What did you do?”

Pride suddenly radiated from Roman, he'd almost purred.

“The boy is mine now.”

Bruce scoffed at the statement, but when he looked at Jason and found the younger man refusing to meet his eyes, he froze. His expression softened.

“Jay… What did you do?” he begged.

Jason hissed at the name. How dare he. How _DARE_ he use that name now. Tears welled up in his eyes, he wiped them away in frustration.

“I messed up. I’m dealing with it.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. We... we can work this out together.”

“So I’m either a wild card or a victim," Jason sneered, "glad we got that clear.” 

“You know I didn’t mean that.”

“Whatever, I don’t what to be here anymore.”

Jason tugged at Roman’s sleeve and stormed off. Avoiding the crowd, he dragged Roman across the dining hall and through the back door. When he was navigating through the dim hallways he had started sobbing, and when he regained a grasp on reality, he had stopped in front of his childhood bedroom, kneeling before Roman.

  
  
He looked up. 

Roman’s contour was fuzzy against the warm ambient light. He stood there like a sculpture; of a conqueror, unreadable, powerful -- merciless. Jason was struck by the sudden urge to worship, and hated himself for it. He knew all about the atrocities Roman has committed, is capable of committing, yet he felt safe, grounded. He held Roman’s hand in his and pressed his lips on the leather glove with painful desperation, intoxicated by the warmth radiating from beneath. But even with that moment of bliss, the voices in his head refused to be muted.

_How dare Bruce act like he cared. How dare he show him tenderness so easily..._

A hand came stroking his hair, and he started sobbing again.

_If Bruce can show him tenderness so easily, then..._

Then what the hell has he been struggling for?

Head buzzing, he found Roman’s zipper with his teeth; the taste of metal exploded at the tip of his tongue. He lowered his head to unzip it, only to be stopped by a hand on his cheek.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Please,” he mumbled, not letting go of the zipper.

“That's hardly what a father does, Jason.”

Jason whined. He shut his eyes and tried desperately to push down waves of arousal the refusal sent him. Maybe Bruce is right. Maybe he _is_ beyond redemption.

“Please…” he pleaded again.

The hand moved to wipe his tears off, then to his chin, forcing him to look up and meet the gaze of that expressionless mask.

“What has gotten into you, son?” the mask asked.

“I don’t want to go back to him anymore. _Please_ … Dad… _Daddy_ … You wanted me, right?”

Not getting a response, Jason mouthed at the outline of Roman’s cock, “I can feel it, daddy, you’re getting hard. It’s alright, you can have me. _Please just take me_ …”

He heard Roman sigh.

“Very well,” a hand pushed open the bedroom door, another leading him inside. “Whatever you need, my boy.”


	4. Chapter 4

Jason woke up surrounded by the smell of wood, dust and sun. The smell of an old house. He wondered for a moment why Alfred didn't wake him up -- it must be noon already. He savored the moment for a second longer, drifting incorporeally, ignoring the indiscernible, anxious white noise, urging him to get up, telling him that he's forgotten something, that he has to leave.

_Why didn't Alfred wake him up?_

The floor squeaked, dragging him back into his body. He opened his eyes and saw Roman, fully dressed, standing in front of his bookshelf, inspecting the spines of his collection.

“Awake at last,” the man didn’t turn around.

Jason shut his eyes again, fragments of memories flashed in. “Shit…” he moaned, covering his eyes with his arm, “what happened last night?”

Roman didn’t reply. The implication weighed on Jason; he tensed up, then frantically patted himself down, and signed in relief when he found his clothes still intact.

“Roman,” calmer now, he tried again, “what happened?”

“I take it you don’t remember,” Roman sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose that is not there anymore, “you gave a lousy blowjob, had a panic attack, then passed out.”

“…You made that up.”

“I still have bite marks,” Roman said dryly, finally turned to face him, “places I do not want them.”

Jason groaned loudly, like he was trying to drown Roman’s voice with his own, “I need to stop drinking,” he concluded.

Okay, he’ll admit it now, he has a problem. He was going through a rough patch, and running a club gave him easy access and an excuse. He will not be too harsh on himself for that, but it has to stop. He can’t afford to deal with Roman not being sober anymore.

Speaking of.

“Shit,” he cursed again, sitting up to look at Roman. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. He couldn't believe he's about to ask this, like some fucking teenager who’s boyfriend has accidentally spent the night, “Roman… have you ever tried climbing out of a window before?” 

“Why?”

Jason grunted, face burning. Roman isn’t making this easy for him. Either he really _is that_ oblivious, or he is somehow revenging for last night. He buried his face in his hands.

Can’t imagine Roman doing all that in his suit anyway.

“Okay, we go through the doors then,” he relented, “but we gotta be quiet. I’ll get us past the security cameras and -–”

“I don’t understand,” Roman interrupted, “this is your room, shouldn’t you come and go as you please?”

“You’re kidding.”

“As I remember, you don’t give a damn about this so-called family’s approval; so what’s stopping you?” Roman said as he strolls closer, bending down to trap Jason between his arms. “Ashamed of me, baby?”

Jason had thought that for once without alcohol in his system, he would hold his ground firmer in front of Roman; but when he was fixed by those stares, he still felt the heat on his face, “No, it’s not that…” he looked away before he could stop himself. “Fuck, you’re right. There’s nothing to hide.”

“Good,” Roman retracted, satisfied. “Now go freshen up, we leave in ten.”

*

Jason shut the door behind him a little louder than necessary. He did the same in the hallways, stomping his feet to announce their presence, so anyone who’d wish to avoid the contact could get out of the way. If Roman realized what he was doing, he didn't stop him. The strategy worked, until they reached the foyer and saw Alfred waiting.

Of course Alfred would be waiting.

“Ah, Master Jason. I hope you rested well last night,” the butler scanned him up and down without shooting a glance at Roman, signing the cars idling behind him in the driveway, “I’m afraid I let your drivers home for the evening, so I took the liberty to call you gentlemen _each_ a cab.”

Jason winced at the overtone but hurried to hide it. “Thanks, Alfred,” he smiled nervously, relieved to see the butler smiling back; but it vanished when Roman decided that his presence deserved more attention.

“Pennyworth, meticulous as always,” Roman stepped in, putting his arm around Jason, “but I believe one would be quite enough,” he pulled open the door and shoved Jason inside, before joining in himself. “Please convey my best regards to Bruce, I've had a _lovely_ night.”

Jason thought Alfred was going to stab the man, by the look on his face, and truth be told he wouldn’t be against it. He brooded his anger in the ride back, in the garage of Roman’s building, and in the elevator up. The elevator opened with a ding, and he burst out yelling.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you? You wanted him to think we live together!” The thought fed on Jason’s frustration, _the manipulative fuck_.

Roman was unmoved. He waited, patiently, for Jason to finish, like he was just some kid throwing a tantrum, and sighed when he finally did. “I’m giving you full control of the weapon trading in Gotham.”

“…Huh?”

The announcement threw Jason so completely off his rhythm that seconds later all he managed to urge out was a single syllable. He looked for signs on Roman saying this is a joke but found nothing. He frowned. The offer was tempting, not to mention exactly what he needed, but he decided that he doesn’t have the time for it now. He took a deep breath, preparing to end this bullshit once and for all.

"And the drug deals on the east side,” Roman sweeten the pot, like he can read Jason’s thoughts, “you start today.”

That got Jason’s attention. He paused, saving his temper for another time. Weapon trading is one thing, but controlling the drugs so that they wouldn’t go to kids is his chance to actually do some good for the city. With that on the table, the offer was almost irresistible.

Almost.

“What about the rest of it?” 

“You want them?”

Jason considered for a moment, then nodded.

“Then they are yours.”

Jason frowned at the promise, it was too light, too easy, “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Giving you something to focus on. Can’t have you wasting your life in those clubs and galas anymore.”

“My mistake, let me rephrase it -- _Why_ are you doing this?”

“Honouring our deal, just as you should do now.”

“Yeah right,” Jason scoffed, knowing he wouldn’t get anything more than that from Roman. “Can I start tomorrow though? My head still hurts from the hangover.”

“Don’t be stupid, you only had two glasses of sparklings last night. You start today.”

“So bossy,” Jason smirked, suddenly in a good mood, knowing how much it annoyed Roman. He’ll figure out what Roman is planning later. Right now, he has a new job to get ready for.

*

Weeks later, Jason can confidently announce that the job is a bore. He had managed to double their revenue while keeping the schools clean, no major gang fight, no police bust. He still lived in the Iceberg Lounge – Roman has allowed him to keep it for himself, on the condition that he doesn’t run the day-to-days. So he gave the club to the girls, not because Roman asked, but because he had planned to do it anyway. He made sure Roman knows it.

He met with Roman, not as infrequently as he liked, and not as often as he liked. The meetings were routine in the sense that nothing ever happened. Roman never questioned his actions, never said no to his plans, never scowled at him for his mistakes. It bored Jason. All the man ever did was giving him praises — lots of praises — and he hated them. He hated how unoriginal they were, hated how uneasy they made him ——

Hated how it took every ounce of his strength to ask Roman to stop.

“You did a good job, Jason, why wouldn’t you want the compliments due for it?” the man sounded perfectly innocent, like he didn’t know exactly what he was doing.

“Flattery makes a man careless,” Jason shrugged.

“Not you."

“Stop trying so hard, Roman,” Jason snapped, “if you have a point I suggest you get to it, because right now you’re just wasting both of our lives here.”

“Not used to compliments, are we?” Roman replied casually, “I imagine Batman is not the ‘pat on the head’ type?”

It irritated Jason, how precisely Roman can push his buttons. He smiled without pulling a muscle, “This one-sided competition between you and Bruce is cute and all, but I’m not gonna offer you another fucking blowjob. So are you gonna _actually_ fuck me or not?”

His cheeks started to burn the moment he realized what he had said. He can practically see Roman raising his eyebrows. After that night at the Wayne's manor, Roman never brought it up again. Maybe he had the wrong idea, maybe Roman wasn't interested in getting him into bed after all.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s a simple question, Roman.” Jason forced his back straight and put on a brave face. There is no way back now.

“Then I’ll give you a simple answer: No. I’m not going to do that.”

“You think I’m not good for a fuck.”

“I think you are very young, Jason.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Roman looked at Jason, like he couldn’t believe that the young man really didn’t understand, “It means of course I _want_ to fuck you. But I also want to put you on a leash, tie you up, and toss you in a room where you will not live to see another living soul. Kill you, hollow you out, then stuff you back up into a proper doll. I want the best of you, Jason, but I also want to ruin you. I can’t afford the latter. My investment in you is too great.”

Jason’s eyes widened at the confession. Heart pounding, he swallowed.

“Do it.”

“I won’t give a damn about you after I’m done.”

“I don’t care,” Jason took a step closer, meeting Roman's eyes with a challenge. "Whatever you want with me, do all of it. Break me down, build me back up. If you don’t like what you get in the end, just toss me aside.”

Roman didn’t respond. He cupped his hands around Jason’s waist, and Jason shivered realizing Roman was actually considering it. But eventually, Roman shook his head.

“No.”


	5. Chapter 5

Jason was supervising a transaction with the false facers when Batman showed up. He landed among them like a shadow, and just as swift and quiet, the fight ended. Jason watched in awe, wondered, like he always does, when he will be able to match those moves. He then remembered that he didn’t have to – not anymore – and pulled out his guns.

Bruce looked up from the goons lying unconsciously on the ground. He tried to talk, but had to dodge the bullet fired at him. Jason leapt to him, and it was exhilarating. It was the only way he knew how to be with Bruce after coming back from his death, not the awkward truce, not the careful prying, but right here, in close combat, tangled in sweat, so he can finally stop thinking. He led Bruce into an alley. He misstepped on purpose and was pushed against a wall.

“What are you doing with Sionis, Jason?”

Jason looked at Bruce. His father with a shotgun, he thought.

“You wanna know?” he leaned closer, out of breath, smiling, “I’ll show you.”

He closed the gap between them.

The first thing he noticed wasn’t the pressure or the warmth, but the smell. The smell he’s gotten so familiar with, but doesn’t know when or how, a mixture of aftershave and coffee. Jason frowned. It was so different from Roman, who smells more like cologne and wine. And leather. The leather of those gloves, of the mask which Roman wanted people to see as his face. But Jason doesn't. He has seen those eyes, they were so much more expressive. Jason wondered for a moment if Roman is even capable of kissing, and was suddenly desperate to find out. He can practically taste the metal of that zipper in his mouth.

He then realised it was the taste of his own blood.

Because Bruce was kissing him back.

He suddenly felt numb, deprived of oxygen. He had been dreaming about this for so long it felt like a déjà vu. It was his imagination to cling to at nights and run away at days. He wanted this, he was sure of that. But he is also sure that now that he has it, it feels wrong. He pushed the other man off. Part of him regretted it as soon as he did, because he was supposed to savour the moment, because he knew this glitch will never happen again. But his skin had begun crawling, and he just wanted it to end.

“What the fuck, B?”

Bruce was silent. Jason knew how ridiculous he sounded, blaming Bruce for the kiss _he_ forced on him. But Bruce was never supposed to kiss back.

“You want me to believe you did this with Sionis?”

Jason was surprised that Bruce called him bluff even now, he scoffed to hide his panic, “What do you care?”

“I need you to make sure he wouldn’t expose our identities.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Make _sure_ of it.”

“By what? Killing him? You can’t tell me what to do, old man, you don’t own me,” Jason shone his teeth at the man, heart rate picking up, “he does.”

“You’re a mess, Jason.”

Jason didn’t know Bruce can still be disappointed in him, but he saw it. He saw it through the clenched jawline and the thinned lips, and it was too familiar, and it still hurt.

“Haven’t I always been?” he smiled, tears damping his domino mask. Bruce wouldn’t have seen it, it was dark in the alley, but he raised his hand as if to wipe those tears off. Jason flinched at the action.

“Leave me the fuck alone.”

He ran again. This time, Bruce didn’t follow.

*

He was retreating to one of his safehouses, because going back to the club just doesn’t seem like a good idea right now. His vision was blurred, and his face was itching. He tore down his domino and hastily rubbed the mist off. He looked up and saw Roman’s building, panels of glasses reflecting the city, shining like a lighthouse. He was drawn to it, had landed on the roof before he’d realised it. He took a deep breath and marched towards Roman’s office.

He was expected.

Jason cleared his throat.

“I met Batman tonight,” he announced as he entered the room.

A pause. “So I’ve heard.”

“Then you know what he did…" Jason strolled closer to the dark wood desk, flaunting his swollen-red lips, "to me.”

He smiled, his steps numb and light, like the floor and every fibre of his muscle were replaced by cotton. Maybe Roman will like him better this way. He can be soft and malleable for Roman. Only for Roman.

It's easier with Roman.

The thought relaxed him. He blinked coyly, hoping his swelling eyes went unnoticed and readied himself to be engulfed by Roman's emotion. His rage, his jealousy... he was ready to soak them all up. But it did not come. Roman only leaned back on his chair, hands folded, examining him silently from a distance. When he had spoken again, his voice was cold as ice:

“Actually, I was hoping you would enlighten me on that matter.”

Jason can see something brooding underneath Roman's skin, and was captivated. It filled him with a sudden, morbid curiosity. _How does Roman see him?_ Despite his tireless prying, Roman never did make it clear.

He took a step back.

“You’re a coward, Roman.”

“Says the man who tries to sabotage all his commitment with a fuck.” 

“I’m not –-”

“Think about what you did tonight,” Roman cut him off, commanding, indifferent, like to a subordinate who can be replaced without a second thought. “When you come back again tomorrow, that will be your final chance.”

Jason didn’t need to ask. He knew Roman was finally ending this. It was what he always wanted; but somehow, it felt like the end of the world.

Roman gave him until the next day, he was at Roman’s door before that. He hasn’t got a plan, but the anxiety of being away from Roman left him tossing and turning in his bed. Before he knew it, he was heading downtown on his bike in the piercing evening wind. He has 24/7 access to Roman’s penthouse, a privilege he never thought he’d be using apart from the late-night mission reports.

The elevator opened with a ding. It was quiet. Polished furniture reflecting the Gotham city lights, glowing in the dark with a dim pale hue. Jason waited for his eyes to adjust. He waddled through the room, unconsciously matching his steps to the tick-tocking clock, and let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when he finally touched the icy copper doorknob.

He bit his lip. It is late, Roman is resting, he wouldn’t like the disturbance. But the fear of being alone stripped away the last shred of his pride, the silence in the hallway drowning him, tearing him apart with its undercurrent. And it was too much, even for him.

He pushed open the door.

“Daddy.”

The curtain was down. He saw nothing, heard nothing.

“… Daddy,” he tried again.

A tiny sound, of someone being awoken, someone shuffling in bed; then, a small hum.

“Jason.”

Jason swallowed a sob. He never knew he’d be so relieved hearing Roman’s voice. His voice so painfully human, so devastatingly soft.

“Daddy…”

“Come here.”

Jason eagerly complied, climbing into bed to settle in the spot Roman made for him. He curled up into the warmth, feeling helplessly small. He felt Roman petting his hair and took a breath greedily deep, the string in him that was about to snap finally relaxed bathing in the familiar scent. He reached for the source, grabbing a corner of Roman’s sleeve in his hand.

“About yesterday…” he said quietly, “I’m sorry.”.

A sigh. “I know.”

“I pushed him off.”

“I know.”

“I was thinking about you… I’m yours now, I _want_ to be yours,” Jason felt his voice beginning to quiver, “I’m sorry, daddy… Please don’t leave me…”

“Shhh baby…” Roman held him closer, “It’s ok. I’m here.”

Jason buried his face in Roman’s shirt, fat beads of tears running down his face, damping Roman’s chest, “It’s all so confusing…”

“I know, my boy. I know.”

“What should I do?”

Roman was quiet for a moment; then he hummed, almost teasingly. It struck Jason then that Roman was in a good mood, when he himself was a sobbing mess, begging for help, lost, humiliated. In a moment of desperate vengeance, he climbed on top of Roman and started placing light kisses on his neck. He avoided the face, knowing too well not to push his luck. The body underneath him froze, but Jason didn’t let that deter him. He moved his waist to get some friction, satisfied when he felt Roman getting harder.

“Please…” he whispered in Roman’s ear, rubbing at the bulge and drawing out a suppressed growl deep down from the older man’s throat. “Tell me you own me, daddy. _Show_ me how you own me.”

Roman grabbed at Jason’s thighs, so hard that Jason can feel them bruising. He paused, savouring the pain, then met Roman’s eyes for the first time tonight with a gentle, reassuring plea. He saw Roman relenting. The hands on his thighs eased up, then moved to cup his waist.

“There may be something we can do. Do you trust me?”

*

When Jason woke up again, there was nothing but darkness. 

And it was hot. The moment he’d realised it, the air became unbreathable like it was going to a boil. His arms were tied above his head. He tugged at the handcuffs, calculating how long it would take him to get out. There was a thought scratching at the back of his mind, struggling to get out. Jason shut his eyes and tried desperately to push it down, sucking in a breath that tasted too much like himself. It felt familiar. It felt like ––

Shit.

ShitshitshitshitSHIT.

His heart contracted so violently that he tasted blood, and before he can take control, he was wasting the already limited oxygen. His first reaction was to claw at the wooden lid above his face but was quickly thwarted by the handcuffs chained firmly to the top. He resolved to shouting, but only then found himself gaged.

Blood rushed into his head with a deafening sound. Then nothing.

When he was conscious again, he was too exhausted for another round of panic attacks. Losing track of time, he’d almost drifted to sleep again, his wandering mind tried to pick up where he left off.

_A sobbing mess, in Roman’s bed, saying he trustsed Roman._

Jason huffed. Look how that turned out. You’d think a man with his history would know better. 

He ears picked up something, a rubbery sound when he moved, subtle but definitely there. Something covering his skin. He tried to feel the fabric with his lips; it was similar to some of Batman’s earliest costumes, smooth and warm, hugging his body and contouring every shape of his muscles. But it was also so much more unbreathable, leaving him hot and itchy with the humidity trapped above his skin. Not a body bag, then; but something deliberately put on.

Despite everything, Jason calmed down a little. Looks like Roman isn’t done with him just yet. Good. 

He has been with Roman long enough to know that patience gets rewarded, so he waited like a good boy. He couldn’t help but imagined if Roman doesn’t show up in the end, if he is left for dead for the others to find out; imagined their aghast expressions, seeing him all dolled up, suffocated, handcuffs on his wrists, gag in his mouth and blindfold over his eyes, not an inch of his skin exposed. Like a discarded, unrecyclable toy.

Even come with his own coffin this time. How convenient. 

Strangely, he felt safe, protected by his second skin. His brain was melting and his erection growing, stretching the rubbery fabric on his groin. He shut his eyes, enjoying the sensation of his eyelashes dragging across the silky blindfold, focusing on the ghost pain of woodchips digging under his fingernails and let out a whine that was more aroused than distressed.

Jason licked his gag with a maniacal edge in his smile.

_Bruce would be so proud._

Like a warning, he heard a pair of footsteps approaching.

They stopped.

He felt Roman’s gaze on him, stripping him down with nothing but tension. When the silence lasted too long, he wondered if he had in fact hallucinated his presence. But then there it was again, closing in like a predator. Jason held his breath when a hand came gently resting on his inner thigh.

It then dawned on him that only his upper body was the box.

Fucking ridiculous.

He made a noise to protest, only to be silenced by a warning pinch. Another hand joined in to yank his legs wide open, and he curled his toes trying not to gasp. The reassuring pressure caressed upward, sending waves of numbing sensations over him, like electricity.

The hand reached inside, grabbing his cock which he only now realises has fully erected. He heard a light chuckle, endearing, almost proud, before being overwhelmed by the sensation of one gloved hand stroking his length.

Another hand joint in, poking at his entrance. He was already slick, but couldn’t remember when or why or how. When the fingers hit the spot that drove him crazy, another muffled sound escaped his mouth. He wasn’t stopped this time, so he took it as his permission to start moaning. The sound echoed around him, the gag conducting vibration to his lips and hurting his teeth. Light-headed, he used his legs to loop Roman closer, feeling proud when Roman’s movement stalled for just a second.

The next thing he knew, Roman was pushing inside him.

The darkness around him suddenly became denser, gaining a lava-like texture. He felt himself melting and solidifying and melting again with it, making messy wet sounds behind the gag, half-mindedly amazed by how he had managed to stay conscious for so long. Being sense deprived, the only thing he could focus on was the friction. He felt like a balloon when Roman thrust and a vacuum when he pulled. And he was drooling. A lot. The damped warmth meandered down his face and puddled under his neck. He hoped it would go in his ears, so he could lose his hearing too.

The cock inside him speeded up, and he was close, so close he thought he was going to pass out.

Then he heard something clicked open.

Cool air poured in. Then his gag was gone.

He gulped in fresh air like a dying fish. It hurt when he tried to close his jaws, so he stuck out his tongue as an invitation, moaned when a thumb pressed in, and put on a show sucking it when it proceeded to fuck his mouth.

He almost came when his airway was blocked by another hand on his throat.

He was pulled up by the hand, his blindfold removed, and suddenly it was too bright, too much. He’d almost protested, but then his vision started to come back. He saw Roman's mask through layers of colours sizzling and bursting around his peripheral, and he found salvation. He had the most surreal feeling that he was being resurrected again. Wrapped up like a mummy, drenched and dizzy and hurt everywhere. But it felt nothing like the last time. He felt safe, assured.

Owned.

Like an item that was being picked up and cared for; that did not need to wander on the street seeking revenge and longing for acceptance; that can focus on the present and the present only; that wouldn’t be eaten alive by the memories that haunted every second of his conscious being.

It felt so good he could die like this.

The hand on his throat was gone just before he blacked out. His handcuffs were off, and he stuck his arms out to pull Roman down. He heard a surprised chuckle, then a deeper mumble – a curse, a praise, or a claim. Whatever it was, he absorbed it. He clung onto Roman, feeling every shape and fold of his expensive suit pressing into his skin, and came.


	6. Chapter 6

“Look, I’m not trying to sabotage… whatever this is. Not anymore,” Jason caught Roman in his bedroom the next morning, “in fact, I have a suggestion.”

Roman was straightening his tie in front of a mirror, “I’m listening.”

“…You know how I was killed by the joker?”

The movement of Roman’s hands paused, “I’ve heard rumours.”

“Well it’s true,” Jason lowered his eyes, still leaning against the door frame. He drew a deep breath as Roman move forward to cup his face, “I was dead. I was… murdered. But he lived. No matter what he does, _who_ he hurts, he always gets to live. It isn’t fair… It isn’t right.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Instinctively, Jason waited for the statement that follows; the buts, the “we need to be better”, but it didn’t come. He stifled a sob, only now realizing how much he had needed it. A simple confirmation. With his destructive exhibitionism, his fanatical speech, his tireless reasonings, it was all he asked for. And it broke his heart that it was Roman who’d finally given it to him.

“Jason,” a soft call, “ask me to do it. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

All of a sudden, Jason’s vision went misty. He swallowed the lump in his throat and summoned up the strength, “I was thinking…” he bit his lip, then flashed Roman a smile, “since you’re my dad now, you get to kill him for me.”

He had thought that Roman would jump at the opportunity, because it should be as casual as a Sunday brunch to him. Unlike Bruce and his pain-in-the-ass no-killing rules, Roman has no moral restrains, not to mention his infamous taste for torture and mutilation. But Roman only tapped a finger against his chin and hummed.

“I could do that,” he paused, fixing Jason with a thoughtful stare, “or, I could teach _you_ how to.”

Jason’s body went rigid. He felt punched in the gut, the rage of betrayal burning every fiber of his being, “You think I don’t know how to kill that fucker myself?” he sneered in humiliation, “y’know what, forget it. Forget I asked. Don’t do it. Like I give a fuck.”

“Hear me out.”

Roman reached out a hand, but was slapped away by Jason.

“No, we’re done here—”

“Jason,” suddenly, Roman called his name, more firmly than anyone had his entire life, “don’t get me wrong, I would like nothing more than to dismantle the clown myself, but I’m giving you what you need.”

“ _Oh,_ pray tell. What _do_ I need?” Jason mocked.

“You see killing as a means for closure, I see it as so much more. I think it’s time you cut yourself free from Batman’s moral, and where better to start than your own murderer?”

Jason pouted in silent, but his fidgeting stopped, giving Roman the chance to catch a string of his hair and twirled it between his fingers, “I’m glad you came to me with this proposal, Jason. Honoured, even. But at the end of the day, wouldn’t you like to show people that you can take care of yourself?” he leaned closer to take a sniffed of the hair, voice honeyed and luring. “Don’t worry, I will arrange everything and be there with you through the whole process. You will like it, I promise.”

Jason didn’t know what got into him. He was going to make some sharp remark about Roman being a sociopath and storm out, but he stayed. It took him a minute to realize that he was actually considering it, that he was _curious_. He shifted uneasily. It will be okay if he likes it, he found himself thinking, because it is the Joker, and the son of a bitch deserves all the suffering in this world and some more. _And Roman will be there._ “Ok,” he was startled by the sound of his own voice, but nodded and confirmed again, “ok.”

*

“Shit,” Jason cursed when he entered the basement, “you sure can be efficient when you want to.”

“I fail to see how that is a compliment.”

“It’s not. Could’ve used a heads up.”

“I admit I may have gotten overly excited,” Roman sounded unapologetic as always. He led Jason to the centre of the room, where their subject of the night was chained unconsciously on a metal autopsy table.

“Well, that makes one of us,” Jason scratched his nose. “Whatever, let’s just get this over with,” he grabbed the bucket of ice water on the floor and dumped it all on the Joker in one go.

Joker awoke with a jolt, coughing violently, those muddy eyes wandered around the room before finally settling down on him, a chilling smile crawling on his pale white face, “Well I’ll be damned… _hack_ if it’s not _hack_ everyone’s favorite boy wonder.”

Jason clenched his fists, “How did you recognize me?”

“ _Please_. You don’t go off killing somebody and then forget about their face, that'd be rude! But I’d recognize your face even faster if it was covered in blood HAHAHAHAHA _hackhack_ ”

Jason didn’t speak. He reached for the surgical tools prepared meticulously by the table, seeing nothing but red, wanting nothing but to shut the psychopath down.

“Oh! Are we picking up from where we left off? Lemme guess…daddy bat still doesn’t wanna do the dirty work for you, so you decide that you just have to be a big boy and do the thing yourself. Poor, sad little robin, HEHEHEHE—"

Jason didn’t realize he was shaking until his body was covered by something warm, something smelled calmingly familiar. He grabbed onto the fabric unconsciously and looked over his shoulder – a suit jacket.

“Stand back, Jason.”

The owner put an arm briefly between Jason and the man laughing manically on the table, before rolling up his sleeves and walking up to the fireplace to retrieve something that looked like a pair of metal tongs. Joker kept talking as Roman approached him with the red-hot tool, his eyes glued on Jason, “Jason… Is that your real name? I gatta say, ‘Boy Blunder’ suits you better, ha! Jason. JasonJasonjasuhhh--”

Suddenly his voice was muffled, because Roman had forced his mouth open and shoved the tongs directly down his throat; then, half kneeling on the floor, stabling the head with one hand twisted in the saturated green hair, he started twisting. A shriek split the air. Jason watched the movement of Roman’s muscles underneath his white shirt, as he twisted the tongs once, and twice more. The scream died down, the absence of sound deafening. Jason saw Roman paused for a second, then, in one smooth movement with practised ease, yanked something out from Joker’s throat and tossed it aside; it landed on the floor with a soft splash and rolled into the shadow like a filthy, drowned rat.

The smell of metal hit Jason like a wave.

Roman reached out his hand, his shirt and forearm covered in blood, “Come here,” he said, still kneeling, eyes on the gaping, gurgling mouth.

Jason did, taking the warm, rubber-gloved, blood-slicked hand in his. He stared at the twitching body with widened eyes. “Jason, look at me,” Roman demanded, and Jason complied desperately, “I want you to remember him like this. Pathetically mortal, same as everything else. I can’t have you wasting your time thinking of him as anything more, do you understand? Will you do that for me?” Roman waited for an answer, then, as Jason gave a panic nod, pressed a kiss on his knuckles. “Good boy,” then he stood up, looking down at the body like at a fish on a chopping board, “but now, we need to finish the work -- tell me what you want me to do to him next.”

Jason let out a cracked voice; he clamped his mouth shut, cleared his throat, and tried again, “I want...”

“Yes?” Roman encouraged.

“I want him to stop staring at me like that. I want his eyes,” Jason blurted out before he could stop it.

“Good. _Very_ good. Painful, yet not lethal,” the pride in Roman’s voice was sinisterly sweet, “hand me that thing, wouldn’t you?”

Jason didn’t need him to specify. He reached for the silverware on the table, heavy handle engraved with intricate patterns, perfectly balanced. _Like a grapefruit spoon_. He thought briefly, somewhat amused. He passed the tool to Roman, who twirled it between his fingers for a few rounds before plunging it straight into Joker’s orbit. The body started jerking with renewed force, air rumbled in those blood-flooded lungs and escaped as a howl of a dying animal.

Through his vertigo, Jason couldn’t look away. He was caught up in the exhilaration he had been trying to push down the moment Roman silenced Joker with those red-hot metal tongs, a moment of euphoria. Roman was doing it for _him_. His strength, his dexterity, his showmanship, all for him; and he loved the attention.

He didn’t know exactly when Joker’s body went lifeless, and somehow, it seemed like the least important thing in the world. Roman turned to him, for what seemed like the first time tonight; some patches of blood on his shirt already drying, turning red into black from the edges. He didn’t say a word, just presented Jason the silver handle of his tool; blood flowing along the engraved lines, aggregating at the tip and dripping on the floor.

Jason took the handle.

*

Batman found the body. What was left of it, that is.

He somehow managed to link Black Mask to the case, digging up evidence to prove that it was Roman who made the arrangement to transfer the Joker out of Arkham. It wasn’t long before Roman was thrown into a cell in Black Gate.

“Impressive detective work,” Roman had said to him, with his exquisitely condescending tone, when being cuffed up in his office. Jason watched, not making a scene, not following the crowd when they left the room either.

“Thought you love to see your perps being processed,” he addressed the shadow in the corner conversationally.

“You had him do it.”

“World’s greatest detective, everyone.”

“Why?”

Jason rolled his eyes, because Bruce cannot seriously be asking him that.

“Jason.”

“What do you think?” Jason snapped, “You’ve had your chances, think I was gonna wait forever?”

The next moment, he was pushed against a wall.  
  


“It shouldn’t be him,” a livid growl, the pressure on his shoulder increasing, “Joker killed thousands in the city under _my_ watch, he hurt Bambara because _I_ couldn’t save her, he took you away from _ME_. If anyone was going to kill him, it was going to be me. He was mine, Jason, _you’re mine_.”

Jason stared at the man, feeling alien; Joker’s scream still echoing in his head. Then he saw something softened in Bruce’s expressions, and was struck by the self-destructive urge to tell him the truth of how much he was actually involved in that night. To prove him wrong, to see him break. There is no way Bruce could save him now, and he found the thought cathartically satisfying.

“Does it matter?” he shrugged with a casual air, “A week later we’ll be back to normal. He’ll get out, you know that, right?”

“He wouldn’t be able to.”

Jason laughed, almost endearingly, “You really believe that don’t you,” he reached for Bruce’s stubby chin under the cowl, fixing him with a gaze heartbreakingly soft, “guess I did like that about you.”

*

Maybe the revolving door wasn’t all bad after all.

“When are you coming back?” Jason whispered to the phone, his free hand tapping impatiently on Roman’s desk.

“Poor boy, miss me already?”

“Not at all, I like having the space all to myself.”

“I see that’s how you repay me for finishing off the clown for you.”

“Trying to drag me into the Black Gate with you, old man?”

“No one is listening to this call and you know it. Besides, I have to leave _someone_ out there to keep an eye on our business.”

_Our._

“Too bad, I’m emptying your bank accounts as we speak,” Jason grinned, and for the strangest reason, he could’ve swore that Roman smiled back on the other side.

“You did marvellously that night.”

“Well,” Jason bit his lip, finally putting his teasing aside, “I had help.”

“Glad I didn’t disappoint.”

“Aww, so you do care about me.”

“I thought that was clear from the start.”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Then what did you think this is?” Roman signed grimly, if not aggrievedly.

“A scheme? A pet project?”

“It’s not.”

“I don’t know, felt awfully like a pet project to me,” Jason couldn’t control the smile on his face, couldn’t help but push his luck, “and I’m quite experienced in the field.”

He heard Roman shook his head. “Remember when you asked me why I was ‘obsessed’ with you? I never gave it much thought until then, couldn’t put my finger on it even when I did; but now I suppose it has something to do with my appetite in collecting.”

“To be fair, you did talk about skinning me a lot,” Jason cocked his head, “so I’m just another toy for your collection, then?” he said as he examined the skin on the back of his hand, imagining himself to be among Roman’s colorful exotics. Strangely, he didn’t mind the idea so much.

Then he heard Roman’s answer.

“You are _the_ collection, Jason. When I have you, I am omnipotent.”

“—— You are everything I had hoped you’d be.”

-FIN-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, glad to finally tie this work up. Thank you to everyone who'd followed my massive self-indulgence, I love writing this ship so much :')


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